


A Scared, Beating Heart

by thilesluna



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Coming Out, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Richie Tozier, Pining, and these boys yall, bc it makes me sad, eddie doesn't die yall, i haven't written fic in years, so much fucking pining, these boys, who are all dumb, young boy and also middle age boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 07:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: What follows is the most intense 2 minutes of well-deserved bullying Richie has ever seen. Pennywise morphs and shrinks, changes between a leper and a mummy and back to the clown. Eddie grabs Richie’s hand and yells, “You’re a fucking bully!”hey uhhhhhhhhh yall want a fix it fic where eddie doesn't die? me too





	A Scared, Beating Heart

Richie crawls in through Eddie's window the night of the big fight between him and Bill. He doesn't really expect the window to be open so he's surprised when he gets his arms on the sill to lift himself up, that he's not immediately stopped by glass.

If he's being honest, he's not even really sure why he's here besides the fact that he couldn't get himself to sleep. He doesn't sleep well on normal nights but tonight it's a hundred times worse. It feels like electricity burning through his veins, a buzzing that makes his hair feel like it's standing on end while the rest of his body thrums as he lays in the dark of his room.

He should be _exhausted_. For all intents and purposes, he should be passed out cold the second the adrenaline stopped pumping from the fight and the house and the clown and _Eddie_.

When he closes his eyes, he sees Pennywise with his hands on Eddie and he can hear the fear in Eddie's voice. It makes his stomach turn and his eyes shoot open. He grabs blindly for his glasses, not bothering to turn on the light. The moon is bright enough for a relatively safe escape from his window and down the lattice outside it.

He's made the trek to Eddie's enough times in his life that he gets there on autopilot almost not thinking about the murderous clown that's probably waiting around any of the corners.

Almost.

When Richie crawls through the window, Eddie's light is out but his nightlight is still on. He'd given Eddie so much shit for that the first time he noticed it, knowing even then that nine years old was too old to have a nightlight. Looking back, maybe Eddie was right to be scared of the things that live in the dark.

For once in his life, he doesn't want to sneak up on Eddie. Usually it's his fucking bread and butter to scare the shit out of his best friend but even Richie knows it's not the time. It doesn't matter anyway because when he scrambles through, Eddie is sitting on his bed, slouched and cradling his casted arm against his belly.

Richie doesn't think about how something in his chest unclenches just seeing Eddie again. Seeing Eddie when the last thing they heard from his mom that they would _never_ again.

He couldn't live in a world with no Eddie.

"Eds?"

To give Eddie credit where credit is due, he doesn't even jump. He just turns his head and smiles softly at Richie, which quite frankly, knocks Richie on his ass. "I thought you might stop by," Eddie says quietly. “No one but you is stupid enough to risk climbing that fucking tree outside. Honestly you’re going to end up like me,” he says waving his cast in the air.

Richie crosses to the bed, sitting down on the non-broken side and bumping against Eddie's shoulder with his own. "How's your arm, Spaghetti?"

"Don't call me that," Eddie says, half-heartedly even as he bumps back. "It's okay. You definitely fucked it up way more with your shitty attempt to set it though."

Richie doesn't have a snappy comeback this time around. "I'm sorry," he says instead. Eddie turns more toward him, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s it?”

Richie blinks at him. “What?”

“No, jokes about other bones you could give me? No witty comebacks? Trashmouth Tozier’s got nothing?” Eddie asks, a smile playing at his lips. “I’m gonna have to get fucked up more often.”

“No!” Richie blurts out. “That’s—that’s not funny Eddie, you fucker. You almost _died_. We’re kids and you almost _died_ and all Bill cares about is getting back down there to fight the stupid fucking clown and that’s bullshit.” He can feel the sting of Bill’s punch still, knows that the bruise will only get worse in the next couple of days. He’s glad there’s not much light in here or Eddie would see it and start mother-henning.

“Richie—“

“This whole thing is such bullshit, Eddie,” he says fiercely, his eyes burning. He’s not going to cry because it’d be fucking stupid to. Crying in front of Eddie Kaspbrak? He’d never hear the fucking end of it. “I—we almost lost you and now I’m probably never going to see you again because your mom—“

“Fuck that,” Eddie interrupts. “And don’t even,” he says with a warning look, knowing that he set Richie up pretty perfectly for a poorly crafted joke. “I don’t give a shit what she says, Rich. I’m not leaving the Losers Club. I fucking helped found it so that shit is like…25% mine so I’m gonna keep it.”

“You’re not seriously thinking about going back to that house are you?” Richie asks. “Eddie it’s a fucking death trap.”

“We didn’t die last time,” is the response and _what the fuck, Eddie._

“By the skin of our teeth and the flab of Ben’s stomach!” he practically shouts. Eddie looks nervously toward the door but they can both hear the TV coming from the living room, which probably drowns him out. “Eddie you’re not—what the fuck are you expecting to accomplish with that?” Richie gestures to the cast, still pristine and white.

Eddie shrugs then. “Fuck if I know,” he says. “But we’re losers and losers stick together. If we don’t go together then we’re definitely fucked. At least if we’re all there our percentage of survivability jumps to like…23% instead of zero.”

Richie groans, letting his head fall back. “What the fuck is with you and percentages tonight Eds? It’s fucking summertime.”

Eddie bumps against his shoulder again and gives him one of his rarer smiles which he can just barely make out even in the dim light of the room. It’s a quiet one, one that he doesn’t usually use around the group. One that Richie has never seen outside of these little one-on-one chats. It does _silly_ things to his brain. “One of us has to be the brains,” Eddie says shrugging.

Richie returns the smile but it feels forced. “And I’ve got the good looks covered for both of us, right?” he asks, going for teasing.

“Yeah fucking right,” Eddie snorts, planting his good hand on the side of Richie’s face and giving it a shove. He presses on the spot where Bill hit him, but Richie doesn’t make a sound.

“I mean your mom certainly seems to think so based on all the nights we’ve—“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says, somehow both disgusted and fond.

“Eddie, I’m serious though,” Richie says, staring down at the cast on his best friend’s arm and all the little cuts and bruises he got falling through a floor. “What if we’re not strong enough?” he asks quietly. And then even more softly, “What if--what if something else bad happens to you?” Eddie looks at him curiously then and Richie feels a tight knot in his gut. _I fucked up I fucked up he’s going to know FUCK_.

And then Eddie asks the question Richie hadn’t even really stopped to think about. “What if something bad happens to _you_ because I’m not there? Or Bill? Or Stan? What if the clown gets in a good swipe on Ben and Bev and Mike because we’re too scared to go? Richie, I couldn’t live with that, could you?”

Richie’s breath catches in his throat and when he finally lets it go, it comes out as a tiny sob. He can feel the tears now, building in his eyes and pour out behind his glasses. “It’s not _fair_,” he says, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. “Why us? I just—I just want to play Street Fighter and go to the movies and be with you—all of you!” 

Eddie curls an arm around his shoulders and says nothing but Richie thinks he can hear him sniffling too. They stay like that for a long time. Long enough that Eddie pulls him back against the mattress and they lie together, face to face.

Richie breaks the silence with a wet cough and some heavy sniffling. “I’m sorry,” he tries, letting the words hang in the air as a peace-offering.

Eddie laughs at that. “Sorry for what?”

“Crying on you in the middle of the night when you just had your arm broken by a fucking demon clown less than 12 hours ago?” Richie says. “For coming here to see if you were okay, just to fucking cry like a baby and make you feel bad for me?” _For seeking you out over and over and never really telling you why?_

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Richie,” is all he gets in response and the fondness practically drips from him, wrapping Richie in a warmth that starts deep in his belly. “You know I’ll always be here.”

_Always._

* * *

After the arcade, Richie is much more careful so no one finds out. Bowers and his gang would kill him but even worse would be the looks on his friend’s faces. He takes an old pocket knife from his days in the Boy Scouts—before he discovered video games and good music and literally anything else that wasn’t forced on him by his parents—out to the kissing bridge because if he can’t tell anyone at least he can leave a reminder here. What he feels might be wrong and make him so fucking terrified but it doesn’t mean it isn’t _real_.

He painstakingly carves the _R + E_ because if he dies today, he thinks putting it out there, even as vague as it is, has to count for something. 

* * *

Richie isn't sure how long he floats, caught in the deadlights. It might be seconds, it might be minutes, hours, days. He might be fucking dead, fuck if he knows. However long he floats there, Richie watches the end of everything.

He sees the iron pike from the fence fling through the air like he's the audience to some movie. He hears Eddie scream, _BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER_ as it leaves his hand. He watches It collapse backwards and feels the sharp relief as It's impaled on one of the sharp edges of the crater. He snaps back into himself as his back hits the floor and there's Eddie—beautiful Eddie, _always_ Eddie—leaning over him, grabbing at his shoulders, practically _straddling_ him.

“There he is, buddy!”—Eddie looks so fucking happy to see Richie and his smile is like seeing the sun shine after being in the fucking sewer all night—“Richie, I think I got it, man! I did it! I think I killed it for real!”

And Richie doesn’t even get to congratulate him, doesn’t get to tell Eddie _See, told you so, Eds. Braver than you think_ because there’s a fucking claw bursting through Eddie’s stomach and there’s blood on Richie’s face and his clothes and _fuck_, he can’t get his hands to work right to hold on to Eddie even as Eddie mutters his name around the blood dripping from his mouth. He’s being dragged away like he weighs nothing and Richie _can’t_ lose him. And later, he grips Eddie’s shirt and Eddie isn’t _moving_ why isn’t he moving? 

“Honey,” Bev says, her voice thick, “Honey he’s dead.” But Bev is _wrong_ and he screams and yells and he hugs Eddie close even as Mike and Ben grab him under the shoulders and pull him away. He can’t be dead. Bev is wrong and he fights for all he’s worth to get back to Eddie because it _can’t_ be true.

He couldn’t live in a world with no Eddie.

Just like that, the world comes back into focus as his back hits the hard rock of the cave. Richie can’t breathe, the wind being knocked from his chest like falling off the highest rung of the old slide at the Derry Elementary playground. He can’t breathe but he sees Eddie then, just like before, Eddie’s face splits into a grin and his mouth is moving. All Richie can think about is the splatter of blood and the way his name sounded on Eddie’s bloody lips.

His arms work this time, and he yanks Eddie close, cutting off his joyous exclamations. Eddie lets out a squeaking sound but Richie ignores it, keeps Eddie close to his chest and rolls them left. It swipes out with the claw and misses Eddie because Eddie isn’t where he was moments ago. Richie feels a sharp pain in his side as he rolls them, probably a rock digging in from the uneven stone earth.

He ends up leaning over Eddie then, Eddie’s head bracketed between his arms and just for a second they’re not about to die and there’s no massive alien clown thing trying to kill them. For a second, he’s free to just _look_ and he’s sure his face betrays _everything_ because Eddie is looking at him like a he’s a puzzle but he can’t help himself because Eddie’s still here.

It shrieks, and it’s a terrible sound that jars Richie to his very bones. “Okay Eds, lets get the fuck outta here.”

Eddies seems jarred awake too, muttering, “No shit Sherlock,” before shoving lightly at Richie’s shoulders. The two are up and running to the closest cave an instant later and Richie’s got a hold of Eddie’s hand and Eddie is _still there_, a solid weight, a tangible thing. Richie doesn’t know if he wants to laugh of cry or puke, but it’s a solid mix of all three and maybe when they’re not all about to die, he’ll get to all of them.

“How the fuck are we supposed to kill that fucking thing,” he gasps. “It’s fucking huge and literally _unkillable_.” He reaches down for another rock even though he knows it will do fuck all. Maybe it’ll get slow down It long enough for at least Eddie to make a break for it.

“It’s fucking huge…” Eddie says quietly.

“Yeah that’s what I just fucking said--”

“No! Shut the fuck up for a minute, Richie,” Eddie snaps. Richie turns to look at him and he knows that look on Eddie’s face. It’s been 27 fucking years but Richie knows that look. It’s calculating and thoughtful, like Eddie is formulating a plan for revenge for one of Richie’s pranks. 

_Jesus_, Richie thinks, _I fucking missed him so much_. 

“Oh SHIT!” Eddie yells. It scares the _hell_ out of Richie who jumps, half expecting Eddie to be hurt.

“What! What happened! Eddie, jesus _christ_, what the _fuck_,” Richie stammers, ever so elegantly. His side hurts so much. It’s like he can’t think straight.

Eddie _beams_ at him and Richie swears his heart literally skips a beat. “I fucking figured it out! Holy shit, I fucking got it!” he says, excited. “When I was in the basement of Keene’s, I swear I almost killed It. It was the leper again and I had my hands around it’s throat,” Eddie is saying, miming the action out in the air. “I could feel It panicking and It was really _choking_, you know? Like I was actually doing damage to it!” Richie looks at him stupidly because he’s...well sometimes he’s pretty fucking stupid and honestly he’s more focused on the fact that Eddie is _here_ and he didn’t die.

“And?”

Eddie makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “You dumbass,” he says and it’s like they’re kids again, fond and disgruntled at the same time. He takes Richie’s hand then, drags him to the last place they saw the rest of them, dodging swipes from claws and falling debris. “Mike!” he yells, “Bill! I fucking figured it out!”

Bill is helping Mike up from behind a rock when they finally make it over there and the four of them sprint for Bev and Ben. The cave they’re in is just narrow enough at the top that all Pennywise can do is dig at the rocks while they regroup and catch their breath. This time, when Eddie tells them about the leper, four sets of eyes go wide with recognition and Richie thinks, _Damn, maybe I really am a dumbass_ until _oh_.

“All living things must abide by the shape they inhabit,” Mike says softly.

Bev speaks next, her voice shaking as she wipes another drip of blood from her forehead. “If we can get It down to size, make It small, we can kill it.”

“All the times we hurt It, It was the clown,” Ben says, realization dawning. “It was only a little bit bigger than us. Like when Bev stabbed it.”

Richie feels like his stomach is full of lead. “How do we do that?”

“There’s a passage here,” someone says, “We can go this way and then--”

“The way in! It’s small! It’ll have to come down to size to chase us out!” Bev says.

Bill stands, offering a hand out to Eddie to pull him up. “We--We have to make a break for it.”

The plan, like all of their other plans stinks to high hell but it’s the only one they’ve got. Richie isn’t surprised when It clambors past them much faster and cuts them off. He can’t breathe through the stitch in his side anyway and he’s never been fast so he’s sure he wouldn’t have made it regardless. His vision goes blurry for a second as they all skid to a stop.

“What the fuck do we do now?” he gasps, pressing a hand to his side, trying to make the sharp pain stop.

“There’s more than one way to make someone small,” Mike says just loud enough for them to hear. 

What follows is the most intense 2 minutes of well-deserved bullying Richie has ever seen. Pennywise morphs and shrinks, changes between a leper and a mummy and back to the clown. Eddie grabs Richie’s hand and yells, “You’re a fucking bully!”

“Clown!”

“Stupid fucking mummy!”

“Mimic!”

“Eggboy!” (That one is from Ben and Richie is...suitably confused but doesn’t stop screaming.)

“Fucking _clown_!”

“With a scared, beating heart,” Mike says with finality before literally putting his hand into It’s chest and _fuck_ that gross but badass at the same time. The relief washes over Richie the second the pieces of Pennywise’s decaying heart start drifting upwards. He clutches at his side and watching the monster float.

Which is of course when the whole fucking cavern decides to cave in.

“Think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Richie says helpfully. 

“No fucking shit,” Eddie bites back and he takes Richie’s hand again and they run. It’s like Richie can see two things at once. He’s running hand in hand with Eddie and then he’s being dragged by Mike and Ben and it’s like his brain can’t decide which one is right until Eddie yells, “Move your ass, Trashmouth!” and squeezes his hand a little harder, almost so that it hurts. Richie knows then that _this_ is it. This is the real one and even as they run and climb, even though his side feels like it’s splitting in two from landing on the rocks, he _laughs_ a delighted, almost hysterical thing. 

He’s still laughing when they get outside of the house and watch the damn thing collapse in on itself, It’s final resting place. Richie wishes they could fucking nuke it into oblivion. He bends over, trying to catch his breath and trying to stop laughing because he can feel it shifting into sobs the longer it goes on. Richie doesn’t need to cry in front of his friends, he can’t do it. Not right now.

It turns out he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. He collapses to his knees, great heaving sobs rack his body and he can’t _breathe_. He feels them all surround him, feels their hands on his shoulders, his back, his arms, and sides through his jacket. Beverly is sticky and smells like copper but he can feel her petting his hair like he’s a child and _god_ if it doesn’t make him cry harder.

They sit there on the street for longer than he cares to think about before he’s got himself under control and Bill quietly says, “Richie--Richie are you okay?”

He lifts his head and he can feel the tracks the tears cut through the dirt on has face. “Yeah Bill, I’m good I think.” They peel away from him then, each one stepping back to give him space to stand. Richie looks them over. The best friends he forgot he had and feels a surge of anger at It. He can’t believe he wasted 27 years without them. When his eyes fall on Eddie, he has to blink twice because Eddie’s shirt is stained red. Richie panicks instantly, his brain short-circuiting and cutting back to Eddie dead in the cavern, Eddie with blood dripping from his mouth pleading Richie’s name. “Eds?” he asks, grabbing Eddie by the shirt and pulling him close. “Eddie, are you okay? Jesus _christ_ I thought I fixed it! I swear you were fine!”

Eddie stares down at his shirt, fingers touching the sticky, red fabric. “I’m fine--there’s nothing--” he stops abruptly, stares and his face goes pale. “Richie--”

Richie looks down at his hand and the one he had pressed to his side is stained red, turning brown in some places where his blood has dried. He lifts up the side of his shirt with shaking hands. There’s a long gash running across his side that’s bleeding sluggishly. Just watching the blood creep out of his side makes him feel nauseous. “Oh fuck,” he says, scowling. “_I’m_ the motherfucker leaking Hamburger Helper.”

For a second, no one says anything and then Mike, of all people snorts out a laugh. It startles them all, Richie included but it’s like the relief crashes over them all in waves and they’re all laughing suddenly and Richie feels like he’s _home_.

Well at least until he looks back down at the gash in his side gets dizzy. “Fuck as funny as all of us almost dying is, I think I might actually be dying,” he says, gripping onto Eddie’s shoulder tightly. Eddie’s face drops instantly and he rushes to get a shoulder under Richie’s arm. Richie looks to Ben when he goes to his other side and says, “Must be nice to be on the other side of it this time, huh?”

Ben laughs quietly and shakes his head. “At least one of us had to get stabbed or it wouldn’t be us, would it?” It’s a joke but it makes Richie think about what he saw in the deadlights and he has to swallow back the bile in his throat. 

“Yeah,” he replies, quietly, “someone had to get stabbed.” He tightens his grip on Eddies just a little bit but thankfully his friend doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Later, after the hospital and the pit stop at the liquor store for many, _many_ alcoholic beverages, the Losers Club finds themselves at the edge of the quarry. Eddie steadfastly refuses to let Richie in the water at all--not even his _feet_ because “looking at that nasty is water with an open wound is a great way to get _Giardia_, Richie--and Richie teases him that it’s just because Eddie wants someone to sit out on the edge with him. He doesn’t miss the way that Eddie’s eyes glance to the side and he rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“Actually, I thought we could talk? Catch up, maybe?” Eddie says and Richie feels his stomach drop. _I thought we could talk_ Eddie said. In Richie’s book that’s never a good thing.

_Maybe he knows_, Richie’s brain supplies. _Maybe he wants to let you down easy away from everyone else. Eddie’s a nice guy, he’s not going to ruin your fucking life, just break your heart a little bit._

Richie clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, okay. Sure. We can—uh I mean, what was it that you wanted to—you know, what did you want to—“

Eddie puts a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Jesus, dude. Slow down. Take a breath.” He cracks the top of the beer with the lowest alcohol content he could find because apparently mixing pain meds and alcohol is _not recommended by doctors_ and _could literally kill you, idiot_.

“I’m sorry, it’s the post-clown stabbing and subsequent murder jitters,” Richie replies, taking the can from Eddie. He takes a sip and makes a face at the watered down, frankly awful taste. “C’mon, Eddie, lemme have a _real_ beer.”

“I don’t fucking think so, moron. You could die for real, that one is not some crazy shit my mom put in my head,” Eddie snaps. “And if you kill yourself doing something as dumb as that I’ll bring you back to life so I can fucking kill you again.”

Richie presses his hand to his chest like Eddie just said the nicest thing. “Aww, Spaghetti cares if I live or die!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Don’t call me that and yes, against my better judgment, I don’t really want you to die.” Richie knows it’s good natured ribbing and he never thought Eddie would, but hearing him say that still sets a grin on Richie’s face that he can’t seem to dampen. They sit in companionable silence for a moment, watching the other four laugh and splash around in the water. Richie wolf-whistles at Bev and Ben when they emerge from the water kissing and Eddie cheers along.

It’s the best Richie has felt since the summer when they all met.

“Can I ask you something?”

Well, that didn’t last long, did it?

“What’s up Eds?” he says, despite wanting to yell, _No! You can’t! Because you’re too damn smart for your own good and you’ll figure me out too quickly!_

“When we were outside the house and you thought I was bleeding, you said _I thought I fixed it_.” Eddie’s staring him down, almost challenging and Richie knows he’s fucked. “What the hell does that mean?”

Richie stares down at his hands, avoiding the calculating gaze of his best friend that he’s been in love with for over half his life, even when he didn’t remember him. “Remember when Bev said she saw us all die?”

“Uh, yeah. I think the adverb was _horribly_ if I remember correctly.”

Richie closes his eyes, squeezes them shut because he can’t cry again today. Not when they won and they’re all still here. _Not Stan,_ his brain helpfully provides and _fuck_. “I watched you die horribly because you saved my life,” he blurts finally. “I was in the dead lights and you were so badass throwing the fence spike and then when you tried to get me up, you—It—the claw thing, fuck, Eddie. It went right through you,” Richie says, hands sliding into his hair, gripping tight. He can still see it and he thinks that he’s probably going to be able to see it for the rest of his life. “You fucking died and I couldn’t do _anything_. We had to leave you in that fucking house and all I could feel was—“

He stops there because he’s heading into the danger zone. Eddie is married and Eddie is like way out of his league and Eddie isn’t even _gay_. He can’t confess everything now, not after so long.

“Richie,” and his voice is soft. Gentle like back when they were kids and Richie climbed through Eddie’s window when he couldn’t sleep or when Richie’s parents were fighting too loud and it freaked him out. “Rich, look at me,” he says and there’s not anything Richie wouldn’t do for him.

He lifts his chin, peering at Eddie with his shitty cracked glasses and Eddie is smiling. He’s so fucking beautiful. “I’m not dead, jackass,” Eddie says, fondly. God, Richie wishes he deserved half the fondness Eddie has always given him. “I’m right here. You _did_ do something. You saved my fucking life, man.”

“You’re fucking welcome,” Richie mumbles and Eddie laughs. There are still bits and pieces coming back from his childhood but that rumbled laugh that Eddie lets out, Richie remembers. He remembers doing anything he could to get Eddie to laugh like that and to get one of his private little smiles.

“You’re my best friend,” Eddie says plainly. “I don’t—I don’t have many friends now. Myra and I basically spend all our time together because that’s what she wants, but I always felt like I was missing something.” Richie feels sick when Eddie mentions his wife, but he puts on a brave face. “I think it was you. You and Bev and Mike, Bill, Ben, and Stan.”

“I never really got close to anyone,” Richie quietly admits. “No one ever felt—“

“Right,” Eddie finishes.

Richie offers him a small smile. “Yeah. But hey man, you got married!” _Jesus fucking Christ,_ he thinks, _that’s literally the _last_ thing I want to fucking talk about._ Eddie is quiet for a moment, looking off into the distance with a small frown pulling at his lips. “Eds?”

“I think I married my mom?” he says finally and Richie spits out the beer he just sipped.

“You fuckin’ what?”

“No I mean, fuck. Myra is…she’s—she’s like my mom,” Eddie says, “She’s very controlling and I mean even if I wanted to have friends, I don’t know if she’d let me.” Eddie sighs. “Guess I really turned out great, didn’t I? Put myself back into hell all over again like a fucking idiot.”

Richie is almost at a loss for words but Eddie looks so fucking sad that his own panic is forgotten. He puts his arm over his friend’s shoulder and pulls him close. “Eddie, you’re not an idiot,” he says. “You forgot a lot of what she did to you but you still had the imprint and you must have just been looking for a way to fill it, and _no_ I’m not making a mom-fucking joke right now.”

Eddie snorts, resting his head against Richie. “At least a few of us were successful in life. I mean you’re a famous comedian for fucks sake.”

“I’m fucking _miserable_,” Richie spits out. “I fucking hate my life, Eddie.”

“What?”

“I’m so fucking lonely,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever said that out loud. “I’m lonely all the fucking time.” He moves his arm from Eddie’s shoulder and turns to face him. “Eddie, I don’t have any real friends, I’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than a couple weeks, I can’t even keep a fucking plant alive!” He hopes that the earnestness is coming across because it’s kind of hard when Richie is…well you know, Richie. “Despite the killing and the terror and the near-death experiences, this is the happiest I’ve been in 27 years.”

Eddie smiles, beautiful and fucking _perfect_. “I feel the same way honestly. When I walked into the restaurant I was sure I was going to run the fuck away and then I saw you—“ Richie doesn’t let his heart flutter. He can’t get his hopes up that way. “I mean, I saw everyone and something just clicked.”

“I have to tell you something,” Richie says and _fuck, is he really doing this right now?_

“What’s that?” Eddie asks and god, Richie can’t back out now. Not when Eddie is looking at him like that.

“Before I went to the house that day when we were kids, you know, the second time, I made a stop first,” he starts. “Well I went to the arcade and almost got murdered by Paul Bunyan and _then_ made a stop—“

“Richie what the fuck are you talking about?”

Richie groans. “No, shut up, Eddie. Just listen, okay?” Eddie sets his beer aside, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. Richie takes a deep breath. “I was scared shitless to go to that house but I knew you would be there and I knew that I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

“I remember talking with you about it,” Eddie says then, his eyes getting a far away look.

Richie laughs. “Yeah, you fucking asshole. You had to get all brave and noble and had to be a great fucking friend. I couldn’t let you show me up,” he grins, fingers gripping his own beer can tightly. _C’mon Tozier, you can do it. Half way there._ “But I made a stop. At the Kissing Bridge.”

“If you’re going to try to tell me you lost your virginity when you were like 13 I’m gonna hit you,” Eddie scoffs.

“No,” Richie says seriously and Eddie’s face falls. “I got this idea in my head that if I didn’t—I wanted to do _something_ because it was eating me alive and if I died without—god, that would make life fucking pointless!” He takes a deep shuddering breath. “So I went to the Kissing Bridge and I carved and _R_ and a _E_.” He pinches his eyes shut because he did it but he can’t bring himself to see the consequences of his actions now.

“An _E_?” Eddie asks, sounding confused. “_E _as in—“

“As in Eddie, you dummy!” Richie says, way more loudly than he means to. He buries his face in his hands, wishing he could sink into the earth.

It’s a long time where Eddie doesn’t say anything and Richie thinks that maybe he ended up dying after all because this feels like his personal Hell. He feels hands on his a moment later, pulling them gently from his face. He wants to fight it, but its _Eddie_ so he lets his friend pull them away. He still can’t look at Eddie though. “Richie—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” Richie says quickly. “I just thought you had a right to know and I watched you die and the only thing worse than that was that you’d never get the chance to know and I’ve never be brave enough to tell you.”

“Richie, shut the fuck up for a minute!” Eddie says. “Just—you did that on your way to the house in 1989? 27 fucking years ago?”

Richie wants to pull out his hair. “Listen, man. I was stupid and young and in lo—“ _Oh_ _fuck_, he almost fucking said it. _Goddamn Tozier, get your head out of your ass_. “I thought I was going to die, Eddie. I thought we all were going to die.”

“But we didn’t,” Eddie says, frustrated. “We didn’t die and we spent the next four fucking years together before you moved away. Why didn’t—you could have told me!”

“I’m not a brave as you!” snaps Richie. “I was too chicken shit to do it because Bowers already suspected and he would have killed me or worse, hurt you. What the hell was I supposed to do, Eds?” He’s getting mad now, because why can’t Eddie understand?

Eddie’s face softens, losing the hard edges of frustration. “I don’t know. I’m sorry,” he says, placing a hand on Richie’s arm. “I just—I can’t believe you had to suffer through that. It’s not fair that you had to.” It’s not what Richie was expecting, if he’s being honest. He expected disgust or apathy or awkwardness but not empathy.

“It’s fine,” he says, trying to brush it off. He stares out over the quarry, watching his grown-ass adult friends play chicken.

“It’s _not_ fine!” Eddie bites back. “Richie, you don’t deserve to live like that. You didn’t deserve it when we were kids and you don’t deserve it now! I would kick Bowers ass if I could!”

Richie barks out a laugh at that. “Too late, man. You stabbed his ass and I chopped his head. That ship’s sailed.”

Eddie stares down at the rocks under his feet and he doesn’t laugh. “It’s just—fuck man, we wasted so much fucking _time_.”

_We?_ Something dark and dangerous raises it’s head in Richie’s chest.

Hope.

“Eddie, I—“

He doesn’t get to finish because Eddie is surging forward and pressing his lips against Richie’s. It’s quick and neat and nothing like any of the kisses Richie can remember. When he looks at Eddie, the man’s face is beet red and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I’ve never really—“

Richie doesn’t think twice. He grabs Eddie by the front of his stupid fucking polo and hauls him in for another kiss. It’s twice as long and double as dirty and by the time he’s done, Eddie’s lips are slick and pink and fucking _perfect_. “Since when?” he manages to grind out, voice thick with emotion because he just kissed Eddie _fucking_ Kasprak. _Twice._

“Since you came to visit me when I broke my arm,” Eddie says without hesitation. “Since that night when we thought we were going to die and you came to my house in the middle of the night with a fucking killer clown on the loose just to make sure I was okay.”

Richie laughs. Throws his head back and lets loose because before that night he thought it was a passing crush but when he went home he wrote a letter to leave on his desk in case he didn’t make it back. A letter to Eddie telling him how batshit crazy in love with him he was. “Me fucking too, man.” Eddie leans in for another kiss, that secret smile still pulling at his lips.

They don’t hear the whoops and hollers from the rest of the Losers Club when they start kissing again, right on the edge of the water. And even if they could, Richie thinks _fuck it_. _We fucking earned this_.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway haven't written fic in like 2 years and it's unbeta'd but i watched all of Barry and then it chapter 2 (twice) in the span of a week so all i care about is Bill Hader tbh


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